Father's Day
by Nymphadora-CullenBAU
Summary: Derek Morgan never told anyone how close he was to his father. So no one knows where he goes every year. Sure, they have guessed and theorized, but he doesn't say a word. Dedicated to my father Leonard. 02/10/61-08/09/09.


_**I wrote this for many reasons, but I'll give you the most obvious.**_

_**Three years ago today, my dad passed away. He had been battling Stage 3 Colon Cancer for five years. His battle ended on a Sunday when he went into cardiac arrest and passed away. He was only 48 years old. I was 18 and about to start college, so this was a massive blow for me. To this day, I still miss him. I know the pain will never completely go away, but I hope that someday, we will be reunited again.**_

_**I dedicate this story to my father, Leonard. RIP dad.**_

_**I don't own Criminal Minds.**_

* * *

_Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest inheritance. ~ Ruth E. Renkel_

Every year, at this time, he comes here. No one knows, not even his Baby Girl or his Pretty Boy. Emily doesn't know about his visits here, and she was one of the best on the team. Of course, she's in London now. Hotch has guessed at it, Rossi has suspected it, but if they ever figured it out, they never told him. This is his secret, the last secret that he's kept from them during his years as a member of the team.

He never tells them because he usually drives to this spot, and he only takes the trip during a holiday weekend. Whenever he buys something, he pays in cash to cover his tracks. He never stays long, only because he doesn't want his family to know he's here, and so he can get back in time to brief on a possible new case.

The visit is always very brief, short and to the point. The sun beats down from above, drawing sweat from within his body and making it drip down his face and body. He makes his way through the field, passing each and every stone as he makes his way toward it. Sometimes he focuses on that single final destination, his mind the perfect example of tunnel vision as he walked along the rows of those long since gone.

Sometimes he catches glimpses of the names on those stones and acknowledges them.

_Warren... Holden... Weiss... Thatcher... Robinson... Drew... Holmes... Fox... Werner... Donohue... Cullen... Watson... Winchester... _

He tries to memorize them as he passes, but he knows that the engraved words will quickly be forgotten. His memory isn't like Reid's after all.

It isn't long before he reaches this stone, the one he was looking for. The birds chirping in the nearby trees make for a quiet atmosphere. The opposite of what transpired that day, when his whole life changed.

The day Derek Morgan lost his father.

It had been a Sunday, Memorial Weekend. Derek and his dad were walking to the store when a car drove by. Derek had watched with interested as it slowed and the window lowered. At first he thought it was a friend of his dad's someone who had come to say hi or give the two men grief. Everyone in the neighborhood knew the Morgans; Daniel and Fran, with their children Desiree, Sarah and Derek were well-known in the community, and it wasn't uncommon for someone's car to stop and for the driver to open his window and chat up a friendly face.

But it wasn't a face that looked out of this window. It was the muzzle of a gun.

Derek didn't realize until later that his father probably only had seconds to make a decision. In those few seconds, Daniel Morgan had pushed his young son onto the pavement and moved to cover him with his body. Seconds later, a bang and a roar filled the air around Derek. When the gunshots stopped and it was safe to move again, Derek managed to crawl from the grasp of his dying father.

Derek held his father's hand as he breathed his last breath and it took three first responders to remove his father's wrist from Derek's hands.

Now, Derek stood here in front of his father's headstone, gazing at the grass that grew around the lightly colored stone, the freshly watered flowers left by his momma or one of his sisters. The plot next to the stone was reserved for Derek's momma, when it was her time.

Gently, Derek laid a small bouquet of flowers at the foot of the polished granite. He stood there for a moment, watching the grass wave in the breeze. He listened to the birds sing and the trees whisper in the distance. Somewhere behind him, a procession of cars drove into the cemetery for what was clearly a funeral. The flowers smelled sickly sweet and he was forcibly reminded of the many funerals he'd attended. Cops, victims, Haley's, Emily's fake funeral…

His phone vibrated gently against his thigh and Derek pulled it out, opening it to glance at the screen. No one was calling him, no one needed him. It was just his alarm.

It was time to go.

With that, Derek Morgan replaced his phone in his pocket and slowly walked away, his shoes leaving indents in the grass. Behind him stood the monument to his father. It was made of polished granite, a light blue, almost grey, with an inscription:

**DANIEL MICHAEL MORGAN**

**September 13, 1942 – May 21, 1983**

**Loving father, husband and friend. **

_Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a dad. ~ Anonymous _


End file.
